Just So Stories
by TuppenceBee
Summary: A collection of short stories depicting random points in Erik and Christine's life after they escaped from the Opera Populaire at the end of my other story, Notes Replayed Not necessary to read that to enjoy this, but would be nice if you read it anyway! Please read and review as I love to hear what you think. :
1. Creatures of the Night

A/N: This is a pseudo-continuation from the story I wrote recently, Notes Replayed, and the events I referenced in the final chapter. It's not required for you to read that to read this (though it would be nice if you did) but just know, in Notes Replayed, after All I Ask of You Christine chose Erik over Raoul and the events played out until the two actually escaped the Opera House with the help of the Girys.

The plan is for this to be a series of short stories filling in the gaps of the final chapter of Notes Replayed and they won't be in order all the time, but rather just as the ideas come to me.

Also Marguerite is very heavily inspired by Alexandre Dumas' La Dame Aux Camilias which is one of my absolute favourite tragic love stories.

Enjoy (hopefully)!

Tuppence x

* * *

Marguerite and Tomás welcomed Erik and Christine to their home with such efficiency, it appeared they were not unaccustomed to the art of secrecy and Christine couldn't help but wonder why, but knew it would be rude and improper to pry. Tomás may have been only related to Madame Giry by marriage but in attitude and efficiency he bore an uncanny resemblance to his sister-in-law.

"The items Antoinette sent on are in your respective rooms." He informed them, "Mlle Daaé your box of personal items from your dressing room have not been touched and is on your bed. I have followed Antoinette's strict instructions and have not disturbed your compositions in the slightest, but have left them exactly as they were delivered. They are on _your_ bed. It's best-"

At this point his wife Marguerite, a woman with Madame Giry's eyes, golden blonde hair effortlessly swept into a fashionable updo and a wide, welcoming smile, placed a hand on his arm and interrupted him.

"Monsieur, Madamoiselle; enchanté." She greeted them both, "Forgive my husband's formal welcome. He comes from shall we say noble stock? And old habits die hard. We have some food ready as I'm sure you're both hungry. Then after you've eaten I'll show you both to your rooms"

* * *

It was the middle of the night and the sky seemed to have reached it's peak of darkness, twinkling stars and a slither of a crescent moon the only source of light to fall on the long stretches of countryside that surrounded the remote summer cottage in Bougival.

Outside the cottage, on the fringes of the door a creature moved, almost indistinguishable from the night that surrounded him and apparently immune to the cold spring air breezing through the night. He could not sleep. Too much had happened in so short a period of time and it had been so very long, decades in fact, since he had slept in an ordinary bedroom in an ordinary horse with ordinary people sleeping in the other rooms. It did not feel normal or comfortable to him as it did to anyone else. To him it felt strange and threatening. So he had come out here, in the darkness where he felt most at home, and on his own where he felt most comfortable. At least he presumed himself to be alone, but the sudden small glow of a candle flame drew his attention and his head immediately turned to see who the perpetrator was. He found Marguerite stood there with a candle melted to an old brass plate and dressed in a heavy woollen night gown, her golden hair now plaited out of the way.

"Madame," He said to her, "You should return inside; it is too cold"

"And you are immune to such weather I presume Monsieur?" She replied, an eyebrow raised. "Now why are you out here and not inside asleep with everyone else?"

"I _believe_ it is considered improper to pry into other-"  
"Yes, well," Marguerite cut him off, "My life hasn't allowed me to be one for propriety and from what little I hear from Antoinette, neither has yours"

Erik did not deign her with a response, but merely turned his head away, his mask reflecting the candlelight back to her, as he silently cursed Antoinette Giry for any information she may have shared with her sister. No matter how small or insignificant, it had not been hers to share.

"So propriety aside for the moment," Marguerite continued, aware he was trying to snub her but ignoring the attempt nonetheless, "Do you want to explain why you are stood here in the early hours of the morning when you could be inside, enjoying the bed my husband and I so kindly prepared for you?"

He did not answer. She didn't give up.

"Is it anything to do with the young girl you brought with you?" She asked and saw his eyes flick in her direction even if not another muscle moved, "With men it's always a girl. I know that better than anyone," This last comment she said with a wizened bitterness that caused Erik to now turn and look at her openly, a faint curiosity barely visible in his expression.

"I have made a grave mistake," He finally said, "Not the first, but the first I have regretted"

"A mistake?"

"I have tainted a young, impressionable girl and destroyed her life and her home for my own selfish desires" He shook his head in disgust, "She does not deserve this life and she does not deserve this" He gestured angrily at his own face and Marguerite frowned; she knew he hid something behind his mask but her sister had never divulged the information. She presumed it was some kind of scar, something that had permanently marred him as a child, but at such anger in his voice directed at his own appearance, she now began to doubt this theory and wondered whether it was something much worse (but what that something could be she had not even the faintest idea).

"How have you tainted her?" She asked, "She did not seem to be here against her will. Quite the opposite in fact"

"She is young and foolish and does not know the decision she is making," He countered, "Nor the implications of it. That's why I have to make it for her- do the one decent thing I have ever done in my life"

"Now, listen," Marguerite said, stepping towards him, her tone suddenly sharp, "Girls, no matter how young they are, are always more than aware of the decisions they are making despite all the men's arguments to the contrary. We're never as naïve as we're presumed to be. Ignorant at one point, perhaps yes, but not naïve. If a girl wants to be used, she'll let herself be used (preferably by someone rich rather than poor if that's the case), if she wants to rebel, she'll rebel, if she wants to settle she'll settle- and if she thinks that something is a chance worth taking then odds are it is. Now you may pity yourself, you may even feel angry, but do not insult that young girl again by implying she doesn't know her own mind. May I remind you that _she_ is not the one pacing outside in the middle of the night, replaying her own thoughts over and over again"

"I do think, Madame, that you are crossing a line..." He warned her, though his anger wasn't really in the statement. He found it hard to truly become angry at this woman who seemed frustrating insightful and wasn't afraid to share such insights.

"That doesn't concern me," She said, waving her hand as if to wave the point away "You know, a long time ago, I almost lost Tomás through _my_ own stupidity. Thought I would drag him down, ruin him, ruin his family. He'd be disinherited, cast out from society. I tried to save him from all that. Allow him to live the life I believed he deserved. It didn't occur to me to ask him what his opinion was in the matter and what was the life he wished to choose. Through pure luck I was given a second chance and I made sure I didn't make waste of it." She looked at Erik and put a hand on his arm, and actively tried to ignore the surprise she saw in him in reaction to this contact, "You and I are both creatures of the night," She told him, "And we have both been sent someone to guide us into the light. Do not be a fool and turn away from it." She let go of his arm and turned back to the house, "And make sure you come in soon. Dawn isn't too far away," She added before disappearing with her candle, leaving Erik shrouded in complete darkness once again.


	2. Behind the Mask

A/N: It's been longer than it usually takes for me to upload a story but I've been really busy and then had the worst case of food poisoning EVER. But I've survived, a little worse for wear, but still. Anyway, thank you to my lovely readers, message-ers and reviewers; love you all.

Tara Robotnik: Thanks and I think Erik has a serious inferiority complex, haha, but he battles it a little in this chapter. :)

CaptainHooksGirl: Thank you! And Marguerites story will come into it more later, promise.

Loonynerdxd9: Thank you and hopefully the wait wasn't too long, haha

Anyway, on with the show...erm, chapter.

Tuppence x

* * *

"You don't know what you're asking of me Christine"

"Yes, I do" She insisted. The two of them were sat at the kitchen table in the Baillargeon's ample kitchen. It was the most privacy they could achieve without venturing outside where the distinctly unseasonal weather was pouring down. "I worry about you. We've been here almost a week now and yet we have barely spoken. Marguerite told me she suspected you might be avoiding me and-" Christine halted here, seeming uncertain of how to continue, "-and I think I know the reason." She looked him directly in the eyes, "You fear I will regret my decision and change my mind and one day you will find me gone" The tension in his visible features at this accusation confirmed her suspicion, "And I think I know the reason why" She placed a hand gently upon his mask and he jerked ever so slightly- so slightly that if her hand had not been upon him she would not have even noticed. She suddenly felt a rush of emotions; this man so much older than her, so much stronger than her in many ways but was so child-like and vulnerable in others. The world had made him like a frightened wild animal- striking out in defence at any who would come near him and shying away from any thought of comfort, believing it to be falsely meant. "So," She continued, "I ask you, _please_, take off the mask"

"No," He answered forcefully, getting up from the table and turning away.

"I understand why you are so reluctant. If the reason you wish to keep the mask on is because you yourself feel unsafe or uncomfortable without it then I will say no more. But," She said the word very pointedly as though the condition she were about to make was bigger than the mere words would imply, "If the reason you will not remove the mask is because you believe I will be frightened and run away and leave then I ask that you remove it this very instant, rather than think so terribly of me for one moment longer"

He was stunned by her words. She was so young, barely an adult at all and yet now she spoke as though she were a woman twice her age and he thought to what Marguerite had said to him over five nights ago: _Girls, no matter how young they are, are always more than aware of the decisions they are making despite all the men's arguments to the contrary. We're never as naïve as we're presumed to be._

He turned around to look at Christine with a look of resignation on his face and she knew he was preparing himself to remove the mask. She found herself involuntarily holding her own breath and for one brief moment she feared she would not be able to keep her own promises, that she would be frightened, that his deformed features would cause her instinctively to turn away in disgust, irreparably damaging Erik even further.

He slowly, and tentatively, reached his hands up to his mask and pulled the protective white material away from his features, his head bowing with the mask as if to prolong the moment before his face would have to be truly and completely bared. Eventually the mask was pulled away from the skin and was held limply in his hand at his side. He kept his head bowed and his eyes avoided Christine's.

Christine drank the image before her in and found it did not frighten her, it did not even briefly shock her. Next to barely half a face of perfect, decidedly handsome features was what could only be described as an unformed face. Lips that were undeveloped and instead borderlessly blended into red, blotchy skin that was so thin, it bumped and grooved as it only just covered the veins and vessels underneath. His deformed eye was a completely different colour from the other and drooped where there was no bone structure to hold it up and above there was no eyebrow (just as there was so little hair underneath the wig he had kept on) and half of his nose was caved into nothingness. She couldn't deny that it was horrific to behold, but it did not horrify her.

Erik stood there, waiting as one waiting for a beating. He could not bear to see Christine's eyes, see the disgust and regret there so instead he kept his eyes to the floor, his grip on his mask getting tighter and tighter as he waited for the verdict he knew would inevitably come. Suddenly he felt a hand upon his freshly bared cheek, gently caressing every feature, and he turned his head to see Christine looking up at him, her brown eyes full of caring, understanding...and love. He could not deny, not reason his way out of it, nor argue with himself; it was there as clear as day. His face was bared before her and yet she looked at him not with fear, but with love and having never experienced this before, he felt as though he might collapse under the emotion. He placed his own hand on the one Christine held to his face and she smiled at him.

"Do you believe me now?" She asked him softly and he nodded.

"But am I worth it?" He asked, "Giving up everything you have ever known, running away, hiding...life with a wanted criminal...surely that's not the life, the world for you. You deserve so, _so_ much more"

"I deserve what I choose for myself," She told him, "They can have the world; we'll have our own" With that she placed her remaining hand on his other cheek and brought his lips to hers and kissed him. It was intended to be chaste and sweet, something to assure him of her feelings, but the moment it began it quickly progressed into something more passionate and decidedly improper (if one discounted the impropriety of a pre-marital kiss initiated by a woman in the first place). Their hands wrapped around one another, Erik dropping his mask to the floor (thankfully landing on a rug rather than the hard floor) and their breathing became rushed as the kiss intensified, as every thought and feeling that they had been trying very hard to keep to themselves suddenly rushed out in that one point. After a few minutes, they both simultaneously seemed to realise the dangers of where they were heading and they pulled harshly away from one another putting a few feet immediately between them. They were both panting as though out of breath.

"You make me feel strange," Christine murmured, "In a way I've never felt before...it frightens me. I can't control it"

Erik could not agree with her more, but did not voice it, as he did not currently trust himself to say the correct things. Instead he returned to his seat at the kitchen table and Christine followed suit. She noticed, in the heat of the moment, he seemed to have forgotten he was not wearing his mask anymore.

"I don't understand how one person can make one feel this way," She whispered, sounding incredibly childlike once again, "Just the sound of your voice, your slightest touch, just your presence...and I..." She blushed as she thought on the feelings he aroused in her. It just wasn't proper for her to be speaking about such things...but then again half of the things she had done due to Erik would be considered scandalous by the general public. He placed a hand upon hers to let her know she was not alone in these feelings, nor was she alone in being frightened by them.

At this point, unheard by the distracted couple, Marguerite walked into the room.

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth, as she saw Erik before her, maskless, and as the man instantly got up, picked up the discarded mask from the floor and replaced it in one fluid moment, she inwardly cursed at her own involuntarily exclamation. "I'm- I'm sorry...I...it was quite a shock. I didn't mean any offence" Antoinette was going to have her guts for garters, "Truly," She tried to convey as much regret and apology into that one word as possible and hoped that her feeling of instinctive revulsion was not visible on her face.

Erik usually flew into a rage without even thinking if anyone saw him without his mask, whether purposefully or by accident, but he found himself remarkably calm (besides a slight feeling of panic that had risen in him before he had been able to replace the mask) and could think of no other thing to attribute it to then Christine and her acceptance of him, deformity and all. He turned to look at Marguerite who looked dreadfully apologetic, but she could not hide that look in his eyes he knew all to well; horror and revulsion. But rather than feeling anger at seeing this, he found himself appreciating her apology.

"It was not your fault, Madame," He finally said and he felt both the women in the room sigh in relief and Christine saw in that very moment that something, only something small and slight but something nonetheless, had changed in Erik for the better.


	3. Lifelines

A/N: Okay so there's a little bit more self-torture on Erik's part to go before we head to the nice fluffy stuff. Also I do realise I seem to be making Marguerite kind of Erik's therapist. That was completely unplanned...and yet.

Thank you for reviews and messages. TaraRobotnik; glad to see you like Christine in the last chapter, haha. CaptainHooksGirl; what you said made me so happy! Erik is such a hard character to realistically write and I'm so pleased you think I'm doing it well. Thank you!

* * *

"Torturing yourself again, Monsieur?" Marguerite asked as she came down the stairs in the early hours to find Erik already up and stood silently at a window, looking out onto the grassy fields lit up by the pale morning sun. "Tomás has always said too much self-examination can derive no good. I think perhaps you should take his advice"

She found it easy to speak to him when his back was to her. Ever since she had seen him maskless, when he looked at her all she could see was the horrible visage underneath. She knew she shouldn't judge so- with her life and experiences she would it find it hard to rightfully judge anyone- but she found her reaction to be almost involuntary. The sight had made her feel quite nauseas and so for her sister's sake, and for Erik's as well she supposed, she tried so hard to hide her revulsion though she found the effort exhausting. She could only presume it would become easier in time, or at least she could manage it until they moved on.

"A habit of a lifetime" He admitted, still keeping his back to her. He knew she was as repulsed by him as many hundreds before her, but for some reason inexplicable to him, he found this woman remarkably easy to speak with. Perhaps it was her similarity to Madame Giry or perhaps it was her innate ability to, what did the English say, "hit the nail on the head".

"Not about your dear lady surely?" She asked, "I think she's more than proved her affection for you" Making Christine, Marguerite thought, so much better than herself to be able to see the man underneath, to see a beauty invisible to the rest of humanity.

"No," Erik admitted, "I cannot say her sentiments are in doubt any longer..." Marguerite silently waited for him to finish his point, "But I do not deserve her. And who am I to press such a haunted and twisted past upon her? God never intended for someone such as me to be allowed happiness...but to question her choice...to dismiss it...is that worse?"

Marguerite walked towards him and looked out the window also, avoiding having to look at him directly.

"You say you have dark past that dooms you to a life in torturous solitude"

"I _know" _He corrected.

"I won't argue; I'll accept your opinion as fact," She agreed, "_But_ can I ask you something?"

He bowed his head in silent assent.

"In all the things you have ever done, have you ever struck a woman or struck someone utterly defenceless and without cause?" This question was said with such deadly seriousness that it actually surprised Erik; he had never heard that tone in Marguerite's voice in the short time he had known her.

"No," He answered honestly, "No I haven't. But-"

"Then you are far better than the majority of the men I have come across"

She spoke with bitterness and he turned to look at her and saw a matching expression upon her face.

"Madame?"

She looked at him, forgetting for a moment what reaction such a move caused in her, and found herself able to forget what the mask hid. She chose instead to look into his eyes- currently inquisitive and curious- and saw an odd mixture of childish innocence and adult cynicism. At least the eyes were not dead as the Count's had been. She shuddered at the memory.

"I doubt whether my sister has told you very much, if anything at all, of our childhood, Monsieur," She said, "But I have been victim to many throes of unprovoked violence and find it to be an evil above all others"

"But your Mother-" Erik began, believing that while his experience of a mother had not been a good one, most were protective of their children.

"My mother died when we were very young,"

"Your Father then"

"Our Father lived too long," She said grimly, and Erik immediately got the message. "We both got out as soon as we could. Antoinette took an opportunity she happened upon to train at a ballet school and I...well my destination was not so fortunate. Not until Tomás that is" At the mention of her husband the warmth returned to her voice. "Anyway," She said suddenly, bringing their conversation to an end, "Antoinette and Meg are arriving today so I need to sort out the rooms" And with that she left the room and left Erik to his thoughts.

His life had not been easy, it had not been pleasant, it hadn't even been reasonably average. Life had taught him from the moment he could remember, that he was unlovable, did not deserve love, and that the world was not for him; that the world did not want him. As a child with childish hope and innocence he had tried to fight this, to get the world (that world being his mother and the village he lived in) to accept him but the it had been futile. And then the gypsies and their abuse of him had beaten out any optimism that remained and replaced it with a hatred of and lack of loyalty to humanity and a resignation to a life lived alone. But then there had been Christine. Christine with all her hope and light and optimism, even when she was a young girl just after the death of her Father. She possessed everything he did not; beauty, love, friends, happiness. And that voice...that voice which called to him as much as his did to her. Protectiveness, as he imagined one would protect a younger sibling, was the beginning but as they had both grown older that had developed into an affection which had become love. He had never truly loved any person before, and the emotion was exhilarating, but then had come the desperation to be loved in return. When she had first rejection him, the pain had been unbearable and he had no doubt that had she not finally accepted him and, that miracle beyond miracles, loved him in return, his love would have fast turned to twisted obsession.

Christine was his lifeline...who was he to turn it away?


	4. Two Strands of Melody

A/N: Thank you for all those who messaged me and for those who reviewed-Taria Robotnik: Thank you and actually Marguerite's story will be coming up in the next chapter. :). CaptainHooksGirl: Thank you so much, what you said meant a lot. :) As for the rest of you reading this who haven't reviewed/messaged, please do! I love to hear what you think and how you felt about each chapter!

Anyway, hopefully you guys will enjoy this as it's a bit lighter than the previous chapters.

Tuppence x

* * *

It was only when she heard the melody of piano keys being played in effortless sequence, that Christine realised she had not heard a single note of music since the night of _Don Juan _at the Opera Populaire. In nearly one full quinzaine all their lives had been so upturned and so busy and so confusing that she hadn't even noticed that the the very thing that had been her life's breath had been absent from her life. Music had always been important to her for as far back as she could remember, but it was only with the start of Erik's teachings and their continuation over the years in which she had begun to feel as though she couldn't live without it. Erik. Surely he was the only who was playing the instrument, but Christine didn't even think Marguerite and Tomás had a piano, in fact, she was sure they didn't.

Intensely curious now on top of any other emotion she might have been feeling, she pulled her nightgown tightly around her nightdress and walked down the stairs, the morning sun glinting through one of the windows and directly into her eyes when she was on the fifth step. As she followed the sound of the piano, trying to gauge which room it, and it's pianist, lay, she came across Madame Giry who stood outside the closed door to the parlour. Unlike Christine, she was already dressed despite the early hour of the morning. Meg was nowhere to be seen.

"The genius at work again, non?" She said in greeting.

"It _is_ Erik playing then?" Christine asked and the woman nodded.

"Can you not tell?"

"I've never heard him play so softly before..." She whispered, letting the notes envelope her; they were gentle and light and the melody lilting, almost as if a kitten were playing with the keys in a fortunately melodic way.

Mme Giry shrugged ever so slightly, "The piano only just arrived, rescued from his home by friends of Tomás. He and I were the only ones awake when it was delivered, perhaps he did not wish to wake anyone else as he played"

"Do you think he would mind if I went in?" Christine asked and Antoinette merely raised her palms as if to say 'It's your choice'. The young girl took this as assent and quietly turned the door knob before walking into the parlour.

The piano was against the far wall and so his back was to her as she walked in and he seemed so lost in his music that Christine didn't even believe he had heard her walk in or was even aware of her presence. Yet when she took a step into the room, the melody halted and he turned slightly to look at her.

"Christine..."

"Was that- were you playing something new?" She asked and his eyes flicked back to the ebony and ivory keys.

"It is not anything I haven't written down. Or anything that I shall write down"

"Why?" She asked, "I think it sounded lovely"

He turned to face her fully now, a frown on his face so deep it seemed visible even underneath his mask.

"I do not think I have ever played anything that anyone would consider 'lovely'," His eyes became sad, "It is not a word I am familiar with in relation to my own person"

She walked over to him now, placing a hand upon his shoulder giving him both warmth and support, and in the very next instant his entire countenance had changed abruptly.

"Come," He commanded, taking her hand in his and guiding her to the side of the piano from where he sat, "We must not allow our lessons to lag. We shall warm up and then progress to _Otello"_

One might theorise that for a woman to take singing lessons in nothing but her nightwear with a man not her husband was something atrocious, but despite the extraordinary circumstances, Christine knew that as he became lost in all thing musical, he would not notice anything she chose to wear; only how her voice carried.

* * *

Later on in the morning and everyone was gathered in the kitchen in various states of dress and undress (Meg found the lack of requirement of constant propriety in this house exhilarating. Admittedly there was some things that were instinctual; no bare legs, no hair incorrectly done etc but as for the constant nit-picky rules of general society? Well they had been discarded as soon as they walked through the door and Meg was quickly becoming very sorry that she had not had opportunity to visit her aunt and uncle more often in the past). The music from the parlour was still playing and the sound of Christine's heavenly rendition of Desdemona's 'Willow Song' travelled through the grand cottage.

"It's just so beautiful," Marguerite whispered and her husband nodded in agreement.

"I'll admit I'm not the most culturally inclined- far too much of it forced on me at university I suspect- but during the duet a little while ago...well, I've never heard anything like it. I've certainly never heard any man with a voice like his before; it is quite unique."

"Yes, unique," Antoinette agreed but her sister sensed a hidden point.

"What is it?"

"It is his uniqueness, and hers to a lesser extent, that is the problem." Antoinette sighed, "It makes one little fact completely undeniable"

"And that little fact would be?"

"They cannot stay this close to Paris...in fact, I believe they cannot even risk staying in France. The chance of someone finding them is too high."

"Leave the country?" Meg gasped, "But Mother!"

"I am sorry, my little Meg, but it is true. They have to make a new start...far away from here. Too many people here would wish to see him dead."

"Admittedly it is rather understandable," Tomás said, "He has been haunting the inhabitants of the opera house and charging highly for the privilege and then, as far as the rest of them believe, he kidnapped their latest soprano star right from under their noses"

All three women looked at him silently, daring him to say anything more.

"But clearly," He added, clearing his throat a little, "I am alone in that opinion. Or at least alone in voicing in it" He added the latter statement as a quiet afterthought, barely murmured.

* * *

Antoinette Giry stood in the doorway to the parlour, watching the two people in the room in what was truly amazement, but her expression revealed nothing but reserved interest. Before her, the singing lessons had, for the moment, stopped and instead Christine was attempting to play some, rather haphazard, notes on the piano keys. She and Erik were sharing the piano stool, sat side by side, as he attempted to teach the barest of basics of the instrument Christine could understand so well on a phonetic level, but was completely unversed in it's technicality. It was this scene that had Madame Giry watching in silence, unnoticed, rather than walking into the room and interrupting them. She could not believe how two people could so alter one another so dramatically.

Before Christine, Erik had lived for nothing but music and architecture and the arts (and specifically the running of what he considered to be _his_ theatre). He was an obsessive person by nature and so his affection, and eventual love, for Christine had also become borderline obsession, but when Christine had chosen to return those feelings, that one act of love and kindness had immediately begun to change him. A man with no previous sign of patience was tediously going over the same three points again and again with Christine as she attempted to play the piano, and yet did not seem fazed and showed no sign of a rising temper. He also seemed to have forgotten his previous aversion to being in close contact with other people as he sat shoulder to shoulder with the young girl, their hands grazing one another's over the keys. Christine had given him more than her love; she had given him the chance to be the one thing he had never been allowed to be; a man.

He on the other hand seemed to have granted Christine a confidence and presence she had previously lacked. As much as Antoinette had cared for Christine, seen her as her daughter also in fact, she had so many times felt a great urge to give her what her own ballet mistress would have called a 'kick up the backside'. Christine's favoured place in life seemed to be forever on the fence and she too easily allowed other people to guide her- be it the other dancers, Carlotta, Meg, Raoul, even Erik. But in her endeavours to encourage Erik and to rid him of his insecurities and past injuries, Christine had become a stronger person, had discovered her true self, and far from sitting on the fence was on her way to becoming a woman of strong opinions and morals.

Realising she would have to eventually interrupt this moment, Mme Giry decided that, as always, sooner was better than later and she cleared her throat to alert them to her presence. They both turned around to look at her; Christine with an openly welcome expression; Erik with one of mild frustration.

"I am afraid we have something we need to discuss," She told them, "As regards your future. For both of you"

At this, Erik, feeling a lack of control of the situation at hand rose from his seat and took a few steps away allowing him to tower over the two women and thus giving him once again a sense of power over whatever might happen.

"I feel it is best I say this as quickly and concisely as possible, to avoid any misunderstandings," Antoinette continued, "It is not safe, for either of you, to remain here in France; wherever you go people will eventually follow. Therefore there is only one option; to find passage out of France as quickly as possible. That said, I also suggest we perform the ceremony as soon as possible, to avoid any later complications"

"Ceremony?" Christine repeated, now confused, "What ceremony?"

"Why marriage, ma fille" Mme Giry replied as if it had been obvious.

"But- but-" Christine protested, glancing over at Erik briefly whose expression had darkened considerably, "We cannot, you cannot possibly-"

"I perfectly understand," Erik assented and Christine looked at him sharply.

"Forgive me, but I doubt it, Monsieur," She told him, before turning back to her former ballet mistress, "It is not that I do not consider, nor that I do not wish it, but so soon? So immediately? In reality we barely know one another and have hardly had time to even begin a proper courtship"

"And I doubt you ever will," Antoinette replied with her trademark bluntness, "The path you have both chosen dictates your life. No matter what decisions you make a traditional courtship is not an option I am afraid. And it will be easier for you to travel as man and wife. I could find someone to falsify those papers, I suppose, but eventually, if you wished to get married you will find it hard to find someone to marry you with Erik absent of even a birth certificate. And I assure you a false document would not pass muster in that case"

"But then how are we to marry at all?"

"There is a chapel, here in Bougival," Antoinette explained to them both, "With a very understanding Father"

"So very understanding, Madame?" Erik spat, suddenly contributing to the conversation; He had been so silent that Antoinette thought he had seemed to almost disappear from the room if she did not look at him directly. "I very much doubt it. Who would agree to officiate to a monster, let alone one so notorious in Paris"

Christine, remaining seated, took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, and his threatening temper seemed to subside almost immediately, although it did continue to bubble.

"I assure you, Father Laurent, will be more than understanding," A voice said from the doorway and they turned to see Marguerite stood in the door jamb, a shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders. "I apologise, but I was passing by and I could not help but overhear and I assure you Father Laurent will marry you both if you wish it. It was he, and he alone, who agreed to marry Tomás and myself."


	5. La Marguerite

A/N: Sorry about the delay with this. Was super busy and then my internet provider decided to, well, stop providing for two days which was really annoying!

Thanks to my messagers, readers (please review if you've been silent up till now. Love to hear your thoughts!) and reviewers (CaptainHooksGirl: Thanks very much and the wedding is coming up pretty much in the next chapter)

This chapter is a little side story about Marguerite's past. She seems to have generated quite a bit of interest and I thought it was time you guys saw where she came from and why, despite everything, she feels a bit of the whole kindred-soul thing with Erik.

I have to owe the late Dumas for the inspiration behind some aspects of Marguerite's life.

Anyway, enjoy!

Tuppence x

* * *

The Girys were a farming family and had been for generations, passed from one son to another. So when the newlywed Jacqueline Giry gave birth to a girl, to say her husband Jósef was disappointed would be an understatement. Two years later when she had _another_ girl, suffering such complications during birth that the doctor informed them both this child would be their last, Jósef had become furious and it had started a downward spiral from loving-husband-prone-to-fits-of-temper to just simply drunk-and-abusive. Jacqueline took the brunt of this, to save her girls, and it became that protecting her daughters was the only thing that kept her going. Then one winter when the eldest was barely six years old Jacqueline contracted influenza; by Spring she was gone.

With the death of their Mother there was now nothing to protect the two young girls, but Marguerite, being the eldest, took it upon herself to protect little Antoinette as much as possible. Though being a little child herself this protection didn't amount to much and both got their share of verbal and physical abuse.

One night, in a particular drunken fit, his breath stinking of spirits and his body stinking as much as the pig sty, he had slurred abuse at both girls, spit flying, and, looking at them both. had deemed both destined for whoredom with Antoinette's passion for dance (not that she'd ever had the opportunity for lessons) and Marguerite's already curvy shape despite not yet being thirteen. Antoinette then made the 'mistake' of verbally retaliating, insulting their Father and telling him to leave them alone. Marguerite tried to jump in front of her when she saw Jósef's eyes flash with rage but she just wasn't quick enough, something she would feel eternally guilty about, and Antoinette had received such a beating around her head it made her neck swivel and she fell to the floor, hitting her head on the fireplace. Jósef had then collapsed, unconscious, from a drunken stupor.

Marguerite ran to her sister who was barely conscious with a swelling already visible on her head. She managed to get her to her feet, with one arm around her neck and drag-walked her outside to the dirt road. It was almost a ten minute walk to the village, and that was without the hinderence of carrying an almost dead weight. Thinking on her feet, Marguerite took her sister into the stables and lay her on the hay while she turned to the rundown carriage and prepared herself for getting horse _and_ carriage together.

It took longer than she would have liked, but eventually everything was ready and she helped her sister up onto a seat. She then took the reins herself, took a deep breath, before cracking them and setting the the horse into a trot.

Driving a carriage was a lot harder then Marguerite had ever imagined, but they made it to the village, and the doctors, in one piece, and a lot faster than if they had walked.

* * *

Waiting for the doctor to finish with Antoinette was the longest wait Marguerite had ever known and unable to sit and wait as it allowed her worries to increase, she instead wandered around the village and taking in what could be barely considered 'sights'. Her mind so preoccupied with concern for her sister she barely took anything in; that is until she saw a message posted outside the village hall. Jeanette du Jardin, the renowned former Prima Ballerina and now equally renowned ballet mistress, was travelling around the north of France auditioning for new members of the ballet corps at the relatively new Opera Populaire. Marguerite saw this and immediately thought of Antoinette. If her sister could get an audition with Madame du Jardin, Marguerite knew she would be accepted into the corps, and would be able to escape their wretched home and Father. She immediately ran inside to enquire.

Antoinette did get an audition, and despite her injury, was able to attend the very next day. She may have had no previous training but Madame du Jardin saw a raw talent in her, crying out to be nurtured and developed. She accepted her on the spot and despite Antoinette's reluctance to leave her sister with their Father alone, neither Marguerite nor Mme Du Jardin would take no for an answer and when the ballet mistress left the village, so did Antoinette.

Marguerite made the journey back to the farm alone, dreading what state her Father would be in when she returned, and what his reaction would be to her taking the carriage, leaving the farm, and not bringing her sister back with her.

However, he was still unconscious when she returned and so the only thing she had to confess to was Antoinette's absence; and that got her enough abuse as it was.

* * *

Through the years both sisters grew older apart, and though they exchanged many letters, Marguerite was never able to visit her sister as Paris was too far away and Antoinette, so busy with constant training and rehearsals, never had the time to visit her sister either. Marguerite lived for her sister's letters; tales of operas, fairs, rehearsals and the thrills and excitements of Paris, she yearned to experience it too. Then there were letters that were more exciting than the others; those ones in which Antoinette spoke of the disfigured boy she had rescued, the one whom people now seemed to believe was a Phantom. A Phantom of the Opera. It was worthy of novels, of perhaps even an opera itself! It was the morning she had received one of these letters that Jósef had come out and hit Marguerite without warning, knocking her to the ground, before spitting on her and turning away from her to fall asleep on the ground amongst the pigs. Wiping the blood away from the split lip, the eighteen year old Marguerite decided she had had enough; going inside to pack a meagre bag she then left the farm and walked along the dirt road in the direction of a Paris until a kindly man drove by and offered her a ride to the city.

She never did make it to Paris; they were mugged when they were only five miles away from the capital and the men, seeing Marguerite had dragged her away, taking her back to their own town, their sinful intent more than obvious. Used to being dragged and beaten, Marguerite refused to go down without a fight and the moment she caught a glimpse of houses, she kicked and spat and ran.

As morning came, and the small town she had been wandering around began to come to life, she realised how truly hungry she was, starving in fact. And penniless she walked past cafés longingly. A man offered her a meal in exchange for posing for him at the table. He sketched as she ate, before inviting her back for more food at his small apartment, telling her she would find both pen and paper to write to the sister she had told him about over the meal. She had written the letter, detailing what had happened and where she was but assuring her sister not to worry, and then the artist had offered to take it to the post office. When he returned, night had fallen and Marguerite began to feel worried; she couldn't possibly stay here all night. She didn't know this man and he was not a relative; it wouldn't be proper. As it was, the decision was taken out of her hands; the artist took her that night. Only apologising after the event when he realised she had been a virgin though he didn't deny that that wouldn't have stopped him; he would merely have been gentler.

"Why?" She asked him, a blanket pulled tightly about her naked body.

"I couldn't help myself," He replied, unabashed.

"Is that what all men say when they take what they want?" She asked bitterly as her innocence drifted away. It would be the start of a path she had never intended to venture on.

Marguerite stayed with the artist for several months, allowing him to have his way with her whenever he wished in exchange for food and shelter. Then one day she caught a glimpse of a woman, not much older than herself, riding around in a gilded carriage in the latest finery and eating the richest of foods as she travelled around the park.

"Is she a duchess?" Marguerite had asked the artist and he had laughed out loud in response.

"Hardly. She's just a courtesan; she used to be a terribly common whore, but now she's the richest courtesan in Paris thanks to her...most esteemed 'patron'"

"Patron?" Marguerite frowned.

"She's the courtesan to the Count de Chagny"

"I wish you were a count," Marguerite grumbled, "Then we'd live better and I'd have nicer things"

"Thank you very much," The artist said sarcastically, "Do you think that even when I make love to you?"

"You don't make love to me, you use me," Marguerite corrected him, "And it's just as easy to be used by a rich man as a poor one"

The artist knew he would not be knowing Marguerite for much longer. Within a week she had caught the eye of a young heir fresh out of university; he offered jewellery and confectioner's sweets and new dresses. He even offered her her own small apartment above a milliner's. Marguerite nearly bit the heir's hand off in eagerness.

This pattern continued for the next few years with Marguerite working her way up through French society, sleeping her way to diamonds, gold necklaces, gowns personally designed for her by Charles Worth and one of the largest, grandest apartments in Paris and her name became as renowned as the city in which she now resided; Marguerite was in very high demand. Unfortunately despite the sisters now living in close proximity, they saw one another very rarely, each too preoccupied and busy with their own lives, and those lives too different, to find time or opportunity for one another.

One night however, they fell into one another's lives again. Marguerite, being in such high demand for her services (and charging a high price for them in return) had inevitably come under the attention of Count Phillipe de Chagny. He was a widow with two sons (Viscount Phillipe and little Raoul) and was known for entertaining the company of many different courtesans along with many of the more loose members of the ballet corps. Once Marguerite became the queen of her domain he had to have her and she had more than welcomed the gifts he had bestowed upon her; jewels the likes of which she had never imagined, dresses fit for royalty, gilded clocks and furniture, priceless ornaments, the list went on and on. And yet while she attended parties and events with him and permitted him to visit her in her grand penthouse apartment, she had constantly refused to let him visit her in her bed. That joyful experience remained barred to him, but that did not prevent him from continually trying. In one of her letters to her sister, Antoinette had expressed her worry; that pushing the man so far and putting him off for so long could only go on much more before he was pushed over the line and something dangerous would happen. Marguerite had laughed this off as sisterly over-concern and continued with her pattern of letting the Count showering her with gifts for nothing in return but her non-biblical company. There was just something about the Count that prevented her from being able to perform that service; he had dead eyes and they made her feel cold.

One evening he requested her attendance in his box at the Opera Populaire for one of their latest performances. Marguerite was more than happy to oblige; she hadn't seen her sister in a show in such a long time and never from such a fantastic view as that of Box Four. But she had made one condition; that a friend (a fellow, yet less in demand, courtesan) join them. That night as she watched the performance, resplendent in midnight blue and her curled blonde hair pinned up elegantly in a glittering diamond and sapphire brooch, munching on a box of of delicately wrapped chocolates the Count had purchased for her, she was the apple of more than a few men's eyes in the theatre. Two men in particular noted the attendants of the box. One, a young man called Tomás, fresh out of university and visiting the opera with his good friend and his Father, was entranced by the sparkling-eyed blonde.

"You have a very good taste in kept women, my boy," His father laughed.

"That is the infamous Marguerite," Tomás' friend explained with a wide grin, "The most highly desired courtesan in Paris. What you have to spend in a year she spends in a month; you could never afford her"

"She's the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. I want to marry her"

His father let out a bark of laughter.

"My boy! Men do not _marry_ courtesans"

Tomás, however, barely heard him as his gaze remained firmly fixed upon Marguerite.

The other man to notice the women in Box Four was a gentleman in his thirties, born to to just under 100,000 francs a year, he was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in France. Or rather he had been when he had still been in his twenties, but coming close to forty and still remaining single and tongues had begun to wag. His name was Jean Malvieuse and Marguerite attracted his attention, true, but it was her little friend; the petite red-head with the rose-pink lips and almost black eyes; that called most of his attention. He was fascinated; he must have her, must take her. Count Phillipe was an acquaintance of his so he had no worry about being able to track this redhead down. Jean Malvieuse was to be the start of Marguerite's biggest troubles.

That night. That night would forever haunt Marguerite. It had been several months since that night at the Opera Populaire, and Tomás, true to his word, had been pursuing her every week since. In truth she was relenting, and spent time with him and could not bear to ask a penny from him ever. If she was honest with herself, she had fallen in love with him, but that fact frightened her. To love him would mean altering her life completely...everything changing...yes, she was frightened. At the same time as this blissful, if complicated, courtship was happening, Marguerite's red-headed friend was being pursued constantly by Jean.

He had at first been happy with just one night with Angelique (a name she had contrived for herself and used in place of her birth one) but Marguerite saw him repeatedly appearing at her friend's door, whose apartment lay below hers. Angelique had told her one evening that his requests were not the norm; there was a perversion in his desires and an aggression that seemed to increase with every passing visit. Marguerite had worried, especially when Angelique became a victim of these violent desires, sporting bruises and cuts and other such injuries at the hands of Jean, but her friend had waved the concerns aside. M. Malvieuse paid her more than the rest of her visitors put together and she could finally afford to live in luxury herself, instead of mostly living off of Marguerite's excesses.

* * *

Then that night, that fateful night, Marguerite had heard such a racket from the apartment below that it could not be ignored. She could clearly identify both her friend's and Jean Malvieuse's voices. There were two other voices too, both male, but Marguerite was not sure she recognised them. As Angelique's muted voice began to sound more and more agitated, Marguerite could no longer ignore whatever was going on. She gathered her shawl around her shoulders and ventured out of her home to the apartment below.

She had just reached the door of her friend's home when Angelique's yells and cries came to an abrupt halt. Feeling a cold stab of fear in her heart, Marguerite pushed the unlocked door open and dashed in. The sight she was met with horrified her.

Before her stood Jean Malvieuse, Count Phillipe and a third man she did not recognise; all in various states of undress. Her dear friend Angelique lay, almost completely nude, splayed across the sofa. Her neck was purple and while her eyes looked, they did not see. To the uninitiated, this scene may have caused bewilderment, but Marguerite was far from uninitiated. Jean, she knew, had violent desires and Angelique, willing to supply, had obviously been unable to fight back and save herself when those violent tendencies became too dominant in the man to control; he had throttled her to death in a morbid mix of passion and aggression. The presence of the other two men did confuse her a little, but she could only think that as Angelique had shown so willing to one perversion, word had quickly spread around that it would be likely she would accept others.

"Oh mon dieu," She gasped in horror, a hand flying to her mouth, and the three men immediately turned to look at her. "What have you done?" She ran towards her friend, past the currently stunned 'gentlemen', and knelt beside her friend's frail body. "My friend, my dear sweet friend..." She turned angrily to the guilty men, "Murder," She whispered, but then her voice became louder, "Murder! Murder!"

Count Phillipe grabbed her and put a hand firmly across her mouth silencing her.

"You will not say a word of what you have seen here, do you understand? You never left your home. You will not say a word"

She pulled her face away from his hand, freeing her mouth.

"Why? You are murderers. All of you. You deserve the guillotine."

"My dear," Jean Malvieuse broke in, "You may think you have some sort of status, but you are nothing more than a common whore. An expensive one, yes, but a whore nonetheless. No one would believe a word of yours, against any of ours"

"They are more likely to believe you guilty of this crime," The third man, whom she did not know, said menacingly, "A disagreement between two prostitutes, perhaps even a way to eliminate the competition?"

"You are mad as well as evil," Marguerite spat, pulling away from them all, "Everyone knows how close we were. They would never believe it. You should pay for what you have done"

"No, no," Count Phillipe shook his head, remaining remarkably calm despite the situation, "No we won't because no body will be found. And no one is going to come looking for a missing whore. Go to the police by all means, my dear, but you will be denounced a madwoman for no evidence of a crime will be found. And unless you wish to be implicated yourself, and find your own head at the mercy of the guillotine, I suggest you leave now."

Frightened, Marguerite began to back away towards the door, but before she reached it, Phillipe added one final word.

"And if you do breath a word of this to anyone, including any of your fellow whores or that foolish young fop of a boy who has been following you around like a lovesick puppy these past months, you will sincerely regret it. And if either of my sons ever hear one word, I will _ensure_ you find yourself at the gallows"

"Don't worry," Marguerite told him bitterly, "Your sons shall never know the monster their father is. I only pray they have nothing of you in them."

And with one last look at her poor, dead friend, she left, the guilt tearing at her heart more deeply with every step.

* * *

She never did say a word of that night, not even to Tomás, and there were many times she could barely live with herself for letting her fear allow such an injustice to pass. Pathetic cowardice. And even though not a word of that night passed her lips, Count Phillipe still ran her name through the dirt until her status of most well-kept-and-desirable courtesan in Paris turned into the most unwanted whore of the streets. Unwanted by all except Tomás that is. She could not bear to have him though; the things she had done, the terrible things, made her undeserving of him. His Father only added to those thoughts; visiting her one day in the small flat Tomás rented for her to chase her away. To tell her that staying with Tomás would destroy him, his sister and all of his family. If not for Tomás' chivalry, determination, stubborness and his amazing ability to find a priest willing to marry such a notorious whore, all might have been lost.

It was only after they were married and they had eloped to Bougival and were living happily together in their own little world in their perfect cottage that Marguerite shared what happened that night. But she did not share it with Tomás, whom she considered too wonderful to be burdened with such a terrible memory. She shared it with her sister Antoinette; for with whom can one share such heavy burdens but one's own siblings?


	6. Vows

A/N: Thanks very much for all my new readers, reviewers (Taria Robotnik, CaptainHooksGirl [Thank you so much for your review, and I'm glad you liked the chapter. :)]SaVrAiNoiR), messagers, story followers and favouriters (new word?); you all are amazing and your feedback etc means so much to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter- it has the ringing of wedding bells in it!

Enjoy

Tuppence x

* * *

Raoul was at a loss; he had been relentlessly searching for Christine ever since the night of _Don Juan_ but to no avail. He could not find his childhood sweetheart, but he refused to stop his search despite the authorities trying to convince him otherwise. Unable to find anything at the Opera Populaire he had started widening his own personal search to the whole of Paris but god it was exhausting; both mentally and physically. One day, he found himself wandering alongside his horse aimlessly, wandering through the Parisienne countryside;he wasn't even fully aware of where he was, his mind lost in his troubled thoughts. Then, an image flashed across his eyes, to draw him from his unhappy reverie. Through the winding trees he saw a glimpse of a woman's dress and a rich navy blue cloak. Curled dark hair trailed down her back beautifically and Raoul froze.

"Christine..." He breathed, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. His mind was playing tricks on him; there were many dark haired women in the world, there was no saying that _this_ one was Christine. But what if it was? Raoul, now focused and clear headed, leapt upon his horse and cracked the reins, and they cantered through the forest. Leaves and branches whipped across his arms and face as they rushed through the winding trees and eventually he gained on the female spectre. She was not alone as he had originally thought, but rather was the last behind a small group comprising of both men and women. He could see a horse and carriage in the distance which he presumed belonged to the group and they were heading in the direction of a small stone building only a short walk away. Not knowing whether this woman was really Christine or if she just bore a cruel resemblance, Raoul decided to follow at a safe distance before announcing his presence. When, eventually he reaching the building which the group had entered he realised it was a small, intimate chapel and he halted. To follow into there, where undoubtedly some private ceremony of some kind was taking place, seemed a little out of order if he did not know the woman. But...if the woman was Christine, then he had every right to find out. For the sake of Christine, he must risk making a fool of himself, and enter the church, though as covertly as possible, just in case.

Quietly, he tethered his horse to a nearby tree and walked ever so precisely towards the entrance to the chapel, slipping through the door and immediately pressing himself against the walls so as not to be seen in case he found himself in the company of nothing but strangers; he did not fancy being accused of spying upon people's private affairs. As soon as he entered the small church, he heard the familiar words of an abbreviated marital service and knew a wedding was being performed; though a wedding so quiet and intimate in a chapel so hidden did raise numerous questions. He tried to get a better look at the people in the chapel but all he could see of the bride and groom was the back of them; the man tall and dark; the woman so like Christine that Raoul's certainty of her identity began to increase to a point that made him desperate to interrupt the ceremony. Only his sense of gentlemanly behaviour prevented him. Instead he watched and listened; his heart aching at the the priest's words of devotion and love. If that Phantom, that murderer, that monster had not stolen his childhood sweetheart from him, he and Christine would have been taking those vows, just as this couple were. Raoul felt tears sting his eyes as he thought of Christine. What was he doing here? This was just a couple getting married; there was no Christine to be found within this chapel. He should be looking, looking all over France if necessary, but this was not the place. Ashamed of himself for allowing desperation to lead him to invade a innocent young couple's wedding, he turned away to leave, but something made him stop. The bride spoke the final words of the ceremony, making the marriage final and official, and Raoul immediately recognised that voice. So lilting, so soft, so gentle...so musical. He turned around immediately and caught sight of the bride's face, looking expectantly up at her groom, who was yet to grant her a kiss, despite the priest having already announced their marriage.

"Christine," Raoul whispered, but no one in the church heard him. That is until he said it louder, "Christine"

The bride turned immediately, her eyes wide in surprise, her mouth forming a perfectly round 'o'.

"Raoul!" She exclaimed and then the groom turned as well, and Raoul felt anger bubble to the surface as he saw the masked murderer of the Opera Populaire.

"You!" Both Raoul and Erik shouted at the same time and now the few guests in attendance had jumped to their feet in response to this quickly escalating situation though Raoul barely noticed them.

"You fiend!" He spat, drawing his sword and rushing upon Erik, "Are you so twisted that no evil is beneath you? Forcing her hand to _this_?"

Christine tried to step in front of Erik, in instinctive protection, but Raoul was too quickly upon them. She needn't have worried, however, for Erik smoothly dodged the advancing cutless. But Raoul was relentless, forcing a weaponless Erik back, though he was far from defenceless. With cat-like grace he dodged numerous swings of the blade and used the outlay of the chapel as his form of defence, moving behind pillars, posts and pews. But despite all this he was the one without a weapon and was inevitably beginning to lose ground against the determined viscount. Christine and the others called out for the two men to stop, but neither heard them. That is until Antoinette Giry's voice rang out above the others and Raoul froze at the sound of someone else familiar being present.

"Madame Giry," He turned to look at her, a stunned expression on his face, as he could not comprehend her presence. Christine took this moment to rush to Erik's side, the shyness they had both felt at their own (rushed) wedding being overridden by the need to keep Erik safe from Raoul's sword.

"For goodness sake, this is a church Monsieur Viscount." She reprimanded him, "You have frightened the priest into hiding behind the pulpit"

"I apologise, Madame, but I find it a questionable priest who performs a wedding service between a young woman and her kidnapper."

"Kidnapper, monsieur?" Antoinette repeated, "You are looking through the eyes of one suffering unrequited love, I am afraid, and you see things not as they truly are" She nodded her head in a direction behind Raoul and he turned to look at what she was pointing out and saw Christine with Erik. His arm was wrapped around her small body and she was standing comfortably against him, though she seemed to be subconsciously checking for any sword-induced punctures.

"Christine?"  
"I am so sorry, Raoul," She said with such sincerity, he felt his earlier tears pricking at his eyes again. She went over to him and took his hands in hers, "You are one of my most dearest and loyal friends and such a wonderful part of my childhood but- but I've made my choice, Raoul, and I ask that you, please, as that friend, respect that"

"I wish I could," He replied sadly, "But I cannot accept that answer. He is manipulative and a murderer and I will see you freed from him"

"But don't you understand?" She asked him, almost laughing, "I am not there to be freed; these are my own choices, wholly and completely."

"He is, among many other horrendous things, a _murderer_, Christine!" Raoul exclaimed as sadness turned rapidly to anger and frustration, "You cannot possibly forgive him all he has sinned and live with that? You cannot forgive, you cannot love a murderer. Murderers are not capable of truly loving nor are they deserving of it in return and if my Father-"  
"I would not go down that road, monsieur," Marguerite warned, "It is not a path of thought that would welcome you"

Raoul turned to look at her, "What are you talking about?"  
"I only mean to say that one shouldn't presume the actions of deceased relatives." She explained as her sister threw her a warning look, "It does no good"

"My Father was a great contributor and benefactor to the Paris authorities and I know that he would not have allowed such an atrocious excuse of man to prey on the lives of others as this 'Phantom' has for so many years"  
"I think your Father would have perhaps been lenient in this case," Marguerite insisted carefully, "And perhaps it would be better if you did the same. Christine has-"  
"Christine is coming with me." Raoul cut in, "Away from all you...you madmen, I am surprised at you Madame and Madamoiselle Giry, truly. I knew you had connections with the Opera Ghost but I thought it nothing more than the receiving of a few francs in exchange for playing postwoman. I never thought you would support such..." He shook his head in disgust "I am rescuing Christine and having this sham of a marriage annulled"

"Raoul, no," Christine shook her head, as Raoul tried to make her leave, believing her protestations to be of someone who was delusional, confused, manipulated.

"Your Father let the murderer of a woman go unpunished, go free," Marguerite cried out and Raoul froze.

"What?"

"He deemed the life of the murderer more valuable than the prostitute he had killed" Marguerite continued and she put a hand on her husband's arm as Tomás began to question this outburst, "I'm sorry, I never told you any of this. It was a part of my life I never wanted you to know, and I was too frightened to tell anyone." She turned back to Raoul, "But I swear upon my life it is the truth"

"How dare you say such things about my Father?" Raoul was furious, "You are all truly mad! The lot of you!"  
"It's true," Marguerite insisted, "A long time ago I was a courtesan and I briefly entertained your Father, Phillipe, after the death of your mother. I walked in on something I shouldn't have. An associate of his strangled one of my closest friends to death- he made the crime disappear and threatened me with being placed with the blame, and the inevitable punishment of la guillotine, if I ever spoke a word of it to anyone. I allowed myself to be frightened into letting my friend's murder go without justice and there has not been one day where the guilt has not haunted me." Her husband wrapped his arms around her and she held onto them gratefully as tears wet her cheeks, but she continued to look firmly at Raoul, "A man cornered, resorting to violence due to the life he has been served is a very different thing to a man who has everything permitting violence to occur. I know who I consider to be the lesser man"

"No," Raoul gasped, shaking his head, but as he looked into the eyes of a woman undeniably telling the truth, he crumpled to his knees in shock. His Father had been someone he had worshipped as a child, so happy, always indulging in childish games for his sake and everyone admired and respected him. Raoul had always hoped he would be at least half the man his Father had been so he had constantly tried to uphold the chivalrous and honourable standard of life his Father had set. And now...now he was being told it was all a lie? "No..."

"The heart of a handsome young man is often deformed," Tomás said, quoting Victor Hugo, and feeling rather thankful as he said it that many people had described his own looks as 'pleasantly ugly and nondescript'.

Raoul seemed to be going through an inner turmoil which he was trying to work through rapidly; it did nothing to improve his current mental state. Seeing her old friend so emotionally torn and broken, Christine rushed over and knelt beside him, taking him in her arms.

"I am so sorry," She repeated over and over, "I know how much you loved your Father, and this doesn't take away that he was a good parent and that _you_ are a good person"

"Am I?" His voice was full of bitter reflection, "Moments ago I was ready to kill a man, not caring for the consequences either morally or legally. A person should be answerable to the law and God; no one else"

"That was entirely different," Christine protested, "You thought you were saving me, protecting me." He looked at her and she smiled warmly at him, "Still that young boy who ran into the sea to fetch my scarf not thinking for a moment how wet you would become"

Raoul smiled and laughed ever so slightly at the fondest of memories the two shared. His expression then became sombre as he looked into her eyes.

"Is this truly what you want?"

She looked over briefly at Erik, who had stood silently this entire time warily watching the scene unfold before him like an animal deciding whether a room could be ventured into. "Yes, yes it is"

Raoul now stood up, tall, his back straight, as though the wave of emotions moments ago had never happened, and sheathed his sword with a brave face upon his features. He held out a hand to Christine to help her up and she look it gratefully.

"Well, Madame," He said and she felt her heart jolt with a mixture of feelings as she realised she was no longer Madamoiselle and never would be again, "I do not pretend to understand nor do I attempt to comprehend, but I shall respect your wishes. I only ask that you always remember that there is no friend more loyal than I and that should you ever, _ever_ require my help...you have only to ask" He took her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon it and she smiled at him gratefully in return.

"And what of the search for Christine?" Madame Giry asked, "And the hunt for the Opera Ghost, Monsieur"

"Interest has already begun to wane in this matter, Madame, for the people of Paris. But I will lead some private searches in rather wrong directions before allowing the matter to fade away" Raoul replied, "You need not concern yourself with those matters"

"Thank you, Raoul," Christine said, planting a light kiss upon his cheek. His hand flew to the place she had touched, before he let it drop to his side again, self-conscious of the movement. He then bowed to the group in farewell, before departing the church. He untied his horse where it lay waiting outside and jumped into the saddle. With one last look back at the church, and the people he knew remained within, he set his horse at a gentle pace and braced himself for beginning a life without Christine, knowing truly that she would never be his.


	7. TeteaTete

A/N: Sorry about the lateness of this update but I've been in a production of Carmen for charity the past week and a half and so,obviously, my entire time and energy has been taken up by that. Similarly, updates might be a little all over the place for a bit as I have a film in India in a few months.

Thank you so much to my readers, followers, messagers and most of all, my reviewers, (Taria Robotnik and CaptainHooksGirl; love ya!)you guys are the best! I wish I could spend so much time thanking you usy individually and all that, but then these chapters would take even longer to get up so, erm, on with the show!

(Also I know Christine's closing comment on marriage may not sound very in character, but it's actually the exact words an Edwardian lady wrote to her friend after her first night as a married woman, and I have always loved the quote and just had to use it!)

Enjoy!

Tuppence x

* * *

Madame Giry, just before she herself went to bed (the last in the cottage to do so), could not resist the temptation that an ajar bedroom door gave her. It had been Christine's room for all intents and purposes, but since the (rather eventful) marriage ceremony earlier that day and all the legal documentation that had followed, it had now become Erik's room as well. Antoinette could not deny there had been some awkwardness at the concept; the two may be married but were still, technically, at the beginning of the courtship, no matter how long they had been in one another's lives. However, neither one had seemed to want to contest this accepted fact of sharing a room, but Antoinette knew that for all his reputation, Erik _was_ a gentleman and anything Christine was not ready for he would not pursue, no matter how much the body may crave it. So intensely, and shamefully curious, Madame Giry paused on the hallway and craned her neck so as to see through the slither of a gap the unlocked door had left.

On the bed, on top of the sheets, and both still fully dressed in the clothes they had worn earlier that day, both Erik and Christine were fast asleep. They were close to one another, face to face, and their fingertips were touching as though they had fallen asleep whilst holding hands. Erik's mask lay unused on a small bedside cabinet so Antoinette knew he had bared his face, though she could not see it herself as his deformity was buried into the feather pillow.

Nodding her head slightly, as though this scene was exactly what she had been expecting, she retired to bed herself.

* * *

The next morning the two sisters were the first ones up in the entire house (with the exception of Tomás who had been up at the crack dawn for some business in town) and were, for a while, the only ones up. Using this moment of privacy to their advantage the two began to talk in detail about events as they sat at the large, wooden kitchen table.

"Did Tomás ask you to share everything about that night?" Antoinette asked, referring to Marguerite's outburst about the death of her friend.

"You know Tomás," She replied, "He never forces me into anything, but I could tell he wished to know. So I told him. Everything. He was remarkably understanding...but then, he always is" She seemed to want to say something, but she hesitated. Her sister, however, didn't miss it.

"What is it?" Antoinette asked.

"Well, it's only my curiosity really, though I suppose you would call it nosiness, but-"

"You are wondering how the newly weds fared last night?" Her sister filled in knowingly, "Well if you must know I let my own curiosity get the better of me and peered in last night-"

Marguerite's eyes widened in shock, "Antoine-"

"I didn't look in on anything untoward," Antoinette protested, "They were just asleep, both dressed. I don't think anything happened. But he wasn't wearing his mask, so he has obviously become comfortable not wearing it around her at least which shows remarkably progress...I just think its a little soon for them to...do anything more"

"I don't know," Marguerite's expertise in such matters made her unsure of her sister's statement, "The way they are with one another- they are both eager for something to happen in my opinion. Maybe they are both too shy"

"Compared to you most of the _world_ is shy," Antoinette replied cynically; she was the only one who could make joking remarks about Marguerite's 'career' without her sister being offended or hurt.

* * *

"Christine!" She heard name being whispered urgently and turned to see Meg leaning out of her and her Mother's room. She beckoned her friend over eagerly. As soon as she was within reach, she grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her into the room, closing the bedroom door behind them.

"My goodness, Meg, what is it?"

Meg looked at her as though she was mad.

"I thought that would have been obvious," She replied as she sat down on the large bed, and gestured for Christine to do the same, "I was wondering how last night went"

Christine's eyes widened in shock at this question.

"Meg, you can't possibly be asking that of me-"

"What? No, I only meant how the two of you were after the rush wedding and then Raoul turning up and-" Meg suddenly paused, as she read between the lines of what her oldest friend had just said, "Wait, unless something happened that I _should not _be asking of?"

Christine blushed but remained silent.

"Christine! Were you not- was it not- I mean did he not wear his wig...or anything?"  
Christine sighed in mild frustration, "Oh Meg I hope you'll soon be able to see past all that as I do. If you could just see...in his soul, for all his disfigurement, for all of his past...his soul is pure. And whole. And oh Meg, he laughed! It was the first time I had ever heard him truly laugh, and it was at his own expense!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well I asked him to remove his mask once again, and this time, the hair piece also. He was reluctant but assented; he took them off with a sudden rapidity which I can only presume was to overcome his own fears...and well, what little hair he has became the victim of static electricity and," Christine giggled slightly, as the memory came back to her and Meg marvelled at the liveliness awakened in her friend, "it all stuck up on end as if to attention. I couldn't help myself; I began to laugh!"

Meg covered her mouth with her hand; from all she had heard, and from what little she knew, of the aloof masked man she did not think he would have welcomed laughter directed at himself.

"Well, at first, it wasn't terribly well received. I'm sure you've seen when his expression seems to darken, just as the sky does when it threatens a storm"

Meg nodded, knowing all too well that which Christine was referring to; when Meg had seen that expression in their so far brief stay at her Aunt and Uncle's it had frightened her, because it was in those moments that she remembered he was the Phantom of the Opera, and with it she remembered all the dangerous 'accidents' that had occurred at the theatre house.

"Instead of trying to explain, as I knew that would only make him more frustrated, I convinced him to let me show him. He hates mirrors, and he openly said so, but he also said he could not deny me anything I asked and that he would deliver the world if I requested it"

Meg couldn't deny that such romantic declarations made her own heart flutter, and more of the understanding Christine so desired of her began to grow.

"I guided him to the dressing table and showed him in the mirror how every hair on his head was standing, as if to attention. "You look like a mad professor" I told him and I couldn't help myself; I began to laugh again. And to my surprise, and my delight, oh so much delight Meg, he began to laugh too! And oh that sound," Christine's eyes, which up till now had been alive with the storytelling now took on a dreamy and glazed appearance, "His laugh...I had never heard it before, and it was so musical as if someone had made the sound by softly ringing bells or running their fingertips around the rim of a glass...and his face, a broad smile upon it; oh if you had seen that Meg, then you would dismiss the deformity as I now do"

"And after- after the laughing..." Meg probed, "Did anything else happen?"

"I'll admit I was reluctant- I was so nervous and worried. And I think he was as well. And I believed it too soon...but...something seems to happen between us which neither of us can control..." Christine spoke as though she were unsure whether this fact thrilled her or frightened her more.

"And what _did_ happen?" Meg continued to probe, her own impish curiosity overriding any sense of propriety or repulsion at Erik's true face.

"Meg," Her friend reprimanded, "You cannot ask such details of anyone- and if your Mother were to hear you. I will say this though; no matter how soon or how long it takes to reach it, marriage is lovely...but cor, ain't it rude?"

* * *

Erik was stood outside, at his usual post on the veranda, only instead of looking out into the night, he was looking out onto the sunlit hills. It had been so long since he had stood so openly in broad daylight that he found the sensation unfamiliar. He had forgotten the heat of sunbeams on his skin, the fact his eyes had to squint to protect himself against the rays that would otherwise temporarily blind him, that colours were brighter and bolder in sun than they were in the brightest moon. It was for these very reasons that he had chosen to shun the day; it had not looked upon him favourably and only served to remind him of all that he would always be denied. Night had embraced him, protected him but somehow, after the previous night, he had felt compelled to venture out in the day- he felt it could not hurt him, could not bring him down, in fact, for the first time in his life he felt truly undefeatable and was not just creating an illusion of it.

The reason last night had made such an impression on him? Oh, so many things. Christine had said openly that she loved him, had not pulled away when he had said the same in turn, she had made him laugh (and laugh at his own inferiority of all things!) and then...oh she had kissed him and it had awakened so many desires in him (desires that he had never been allowed to enjoy, to embrace, before but never had he so wanted to give in as he had in that moment) and ashamed of himself, and afraid to force Christine into something she would undoubtedly be unready for, he had forced himself to push those desires down and had instead sat beside her, talking, sharing, learning about one another until they had eventually fallen asleep. But then, later-

"You are going to wear away the wooden floors of this loggia, Monsieur" Marguerite's voice broke into his thoughts, "How is it I always seem to be able to find you here?"

Erik did not answer, for he did not feel he needed to; Marguerite was not asking for a response, but merely passing comment. He did turn to look at her, however, and found her to be studying him and, under such intense scrutinisation, he felt his good mood vanishing.

"Yes?" He asked, trying to be as calm as possible, but the tense and warning tone still came through.

"You...seem different," She told him, "There's less of the...wild animal about you..."

"You once told me that Christine was my chance for the light...perhaps I finally have grown to accept it"

"Perhaps," She agreed with a knowing smile, but since he had turned back to gaze at the surrounding fields once again, he did not see this.

"So long, so many years, hiding away in the bowels of an immense building that became my world, my kingdom, yet unable to belong...watching people live their lives while I had no choice but to have mine pass me by." He was speaking as though to himself, and seemed to have momentarily forgotten Marguerite's presence, "And seeing a couple hand in hand caused me such pain, turned me more bitter than life had already made me for I knew that I, with this- this- " He brought his hand up to hover in front of the masked part of his face, the fingers curling slightly as if to claw away at the deformity underneath, "- no face as hideous as this would ever be permitted a chance at such a thing. No matter how much I might wish it..." He wandered off into silence, and Marguerite felt unsure of whether to speak or leave or make any movement at all, and so instead stood there silently, waiting to see if he would continue with his soliloquy and after a few minutes had passed he began to speak again, this time with more life and hope in his words than the bitter ones previously spoken, "And then Christine. And I dared to hope...dared to dream, though I always knew it would never be reciprocated if she knew my true face, if she knew who I was, what I'd done and when she tore off my mask my heart broke for I knew then that she would never love me. But I was wrong- for she smiled at me, and gave me hope, and gave me chances I never deserved. And then she has looked upon this face, and touched it and kissed it without a trace of fright, as I thought no one ever would. You are right," He said, now turning to Marguerite, acknowledging her presence once again, "I have been changed and I only hope, for her sake, that I continue to do so"

* * *

Later on, Marguerite spoke to her sister of her conversation, which had continued on for a short while, with Erik. Antoinette frowned.

"You seem to bring more words from him in one conversation than I have managed the entire time I have known him"

Marguerite shrugged slightly, "Perhaps I have a habit of finding him at his most vulnerable time. Or perhaps he recognises a fellow soul with a dark past..."

"Your past is not dark, sister," Antoinette assured her, placing a comforting hand upon her sisters.

"It is dark enough,"

Antoinette decided the best thing was to change the direction of the conversation, "So you believe the marriage was consummated?"

"Of course,"

"I have to say," Antoinette couldn't help shrugging slightly, "I am surprised at Christine"

"Why?" Marguerite asked in a tone that was slightly aggressive. She felt her sister was judging Christine for giving herself so soon, and considering Marguerite's past, this was naturally a sensitive subject. Antoinette, however, was not oblivious to her sister's sudden change in tone and she quickly made to abate her.

"I only meant that Christine seemed so young and reserved...and, well, a little naïve. I did not expect her to be ready for such a thing; especially with such an older man"

"Despite the age difference, in experience they are equals," Marguerite argued, "They are both incredibly inexperienced...and are finding their way together"

Out of the corner of her eye, Antoinette glimpsed both Erik and Christine walking into the parlour which had recently become the music room. They never broke eye contact as Erik opened the door for her, their hands brushing as she walked ahead of him and Erik looked down shyly for a moment before following her. "I think perhaps your right," She agreed.


End file.
